


Out of Time

by IthacaontheMove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deucalion is Mercedonius, Peter is January, Stiles is February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 12:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IthacaontheMove/pseuds/IthacaontheMove
Summary: January and February were the last two months to be added to the calendar.





	Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mothblood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothblood/gifts).



> I'm not sure what this is, but I hope you like it nonetheless.
> 
> Happy holidays!

The older ones feared them. Mercedonius the interloper, Februarius with death in his name, and Ianuarius who could look both forward and back.

The other months had seen Rome at its birth and become comfortable, secure in the knowledge of their constancy.

For someone, a child of Rome no less, to introduce contaminants into this well-oiled machine offended and scared them.

They reacted in a way typical of the humans they governed—with suspicion followed closely by disdain.

They shunned the new months, saw them only for the passing of the years.

And when Ianuarius and Februarius were moved from the end of the calendar to the beginning, and when Mercedonius grew drunk with rage and was eliminated, they believed their behavior justified.

Clearly, they were children out of Time.

 

* * *

  

Ianuarius surveyed the humans scurrying back and forth from the balcony of his private villa, sure that he could never learn to like them. It was the humans who brought him into this miserable existence which masqueraded as a gift in the first place.

The end of the year was fast approaching and soon it would be his turn to mark the time.

From the very moment Numa Pompilius’ meddling brought him into this world, Ianuarius had been wanting to get out.

He felt the thirst in the back of his throat way down to his bones.

All Ianuarius wanted was to live a life by his own merits. He wanted to live outside the will of Time. Outside of the linear quantifications which measured his days.

He was driven out of his melancholy by the sight of Februarius passing below. Now there was a weird one.

Despite his best efforts, Ianuarius found himself indulging Februarius’ whims more often than not. He initially told himself it was because the month was so pathetic, especially in his roll-over attitude when it came to Mercedonius. Hatred of his position or not, Ianuarius would have annihilated any month who tried to encroach on his time in any way.

He was even going to offer to take care of it for the other month.

And then the Julian calendar had been introduced and Mercedonius returned to the time stream as if he was never there. Ianuarius did not need to see the self-satisfied gleam in Februarius’ eyes to know he had something to do with it.

He couldn’t deny the tiny spark of attraction that lit in his gut.

It might be the one thing he’ll regret, once he has left this dreariness behind.

 

* * *

 

Februarius scowled as he tried to get Augustus to listen to him for the fifth time. He had thought the bi-weekly feasts the other months held to catch up, and of which he was a regular crasher, would be the perfect time to bring up something that had been bothering him for a while. He had chosen his target carefully: Augustus, who was willing to listen to Februarius if he let him ramble on about Maius for hours and made appropriate noises when necessary.

Of course, Februarius first had to get a word in edgewise. He seized his chance once Augustus paused to draw breath.

“Augustus, listen to me. Don’t you think Ianuarius has been acting a little off lately?”

“Ianuarius has always been like that. Remember when he thought Mercedonius, Time rest his soul, was rigging the system so he could stick around longer? Talk about paranoid.” The matter laid clearly to rest in his mind, Augustus resumed waxing poetic on Maius’ hair or some such nonsense.

Februarius grit his teeth so hard he thought they might bust through his jaw.

Mercedonius was what the humans called an intercalary month. He was supposed to ensure the seasons passed correctly in accordance with the calendar. He was, in essence, a time filler.

This did not sit well with Mercedonius, whose ego was enormous on the best of days, and he decided to do something about it.

He began to manipulate each pontifex maximus, whispering in their ears and egging on their political games. Februarius lost more and more time each year.

Don’t get him wrong, Februarius could appreciate a good manipulator. Especially someone who knew how to get politicians, who were naturally distrustful, to do his bidding.

He wasn’t even really bothered by giving up his time.

It wasn’t like Februarius didn’t enjoy some of the perks of the job—he only had to work one month out of the year after all.

However, there was something disconcerting about watching the years grow up while he never did. Watching the humans living their lives while it felt like he was standing still. Some days he wondered if he was already in the time stream.

No, it was more the fact that it was Mercedonius who was doing it.

Once, during a spring storm characteristic of Mercedonius’ pompous displays of weather, the year of the consul of Caesar and Bibulus was almost struck by lightning.

Februarius, who happened to be standing by out of sight, witnessed the whole thing.

None of them really knew what would happen if the years they looked after were to perish from the earth. It’s possible the lightning wouldn’t even have affected the year.

But Februarius saw the careless display of power, the indifference to the near miss on Mercedonius’ face, and he knew how fickle Time could be.

He had no desire to draw her wrath. It was clear to him that Mercedonius must go. But how? The average Roman citizen could never be sure of the true date, but Mercedonius was well-established among the elite and in Rome, the elite’s opinions were all that mattered.

Februarius watched as the year of the consul of Caesar and Bibulus brushed herself off when inspiration struck.

He didn’t often listen to the chatter amongst the humans, but one particular tidbit had stood out. They mocked this consul year, calling the consulship one of Caesar and Caesar rather than Caesar and Bibulus.

Surely, this Caesar would have enough power and influence to take on large-scale reforms. And Februarius had a specific reform in mind, one that would require someone with the political ability necessary to push it through.

He started on his plan at once. The key to steering Caesar on the right path would be to satisfy every powerful human’s one true desire: to think everything was his idea.

First, a trip to Egypt to see how their calendar operated (Februarius had never met the months of that country, but he had heard wonderful things) to instill the desire for Rome to do better.

Then, allow Caesar to take credit for various scientific theories proposed by Acoreus and Sosigenes.

Finally, give Caesar so great a body of proof that the only conclusion that could possibly be drawn was to get rid of Mercedonius.

For Augustus to dismiss all of that, for him to never even notice the events that went on right under his nose went beyond all reason.

Februarius did not care lightly. He thought of the way Ianuarius never made him feel ashamed for asking questions, the sharp curiosity in Ianuarius’ eyes after the Julian calendar was implemented, the small kindnesses Februarius stowed in his heart that would be meaningless to the others, but which were so important to him.

Februarius walked away from that feast in disgust, unease in his heart. He was determined to help Ianuarius. He would just have to do it alone.

 

* * *

 

When he found Ianuarius a few days later, stinking and smoking to high heaven, he floundered uselessly for a moment before making up his mind.

He dragged Ianuarius back to his villa (Ianuarius had always appreciated the finer things) and began to apply what little first aid he had picked up from watching the humans.

Eventually, there was nothing for Februarius to do but wait. He had no idea what to expect—while their vessels resembled human bodies, they did not experience things like hunger or thirst. And while Februarius believed he had felt pain—Martius’ poisonous words, Aprilis’ cool-eyed disdain when he tried to talk to her—it was nothing like this.

Februarius had seen burn victims before; he knew how they writhed in agony for days afterwards. “You did something stupid, didn’t you?” He whispered to Ianuarius as if even the loudness of his voice would cause him further pain.

He focused on an unmarred part of Ianuarius’ shoulder, trying to press back the rage that flooded through him like a tidal wave.

If he concentrated hard enough, maybe Ianuarius’ skin would knit itself back together again right before his eyes.

He seethed and waited. 

 

* * *

 

Ianuarius burned.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained on the precipice of the greatest agony he had ever felt: mere minutes? Thousands of years?

Through the haze that covered his mind so thoroughly, flashes of memory tormented him.

Him confronting Time in all her glory, demanding to be set free from her chains.

Time responding at first with cool amusement and then anger when he refused to back down from his demands.

Ianuarius being held in place, Time’s words like ripcords on his back. “So, you want to know what eternity feels like?”

The flames coming from every direction, igniting every molecule of his body from the inside out.

Him begging for relief with a desperation that left his throat raw from screaming.

The violent push from Time into the waiting time stream. Spending centuries tumbling through voids. Passing from age to age, seeing whole cities and empires rise and fall before his eyes, and all the while he was burning, burning.

After several thousand eternities, landing back on solid ground, unable to feel the impact on burns that had long since become numb.

He gradually became aware of a hand in his hair; its coolness a balm for the never-ending heat. The heaviness throughout his body. A voice, talking. His overtaxed senses struggled to keep up.

“You’re an idiot,” the voice said. “I don’t even know what happened, but I know you’re an idiot.”

Here the voice faltered. “How could you think—”

It continued again and Ianuarius could make out the forced calm. “I would have helped you, you know. In a heartbeat.”

“And you’d never let me forget it,” Ianuarius said without thinking in a voice that sounded like he had gargled thunder.

He opened his eyes. Februarius’ smile was just toothed and tender enough to cut through Ianuarius’ thick defenses.

When Ianuarius finally recovered the use of his limbs, he pressed Februarius’ hand to his lips and knew uncounted time.

 

* * *

 

It was the wind that really did you in. That icy wind that tore through the air seemed to pick up your lungs and deposit them a few miles away with no regard whatsoever to your opinion on the matter. Any people unfortunate enough to be on the street at this late hour huddled futilely into their coats with turned up collars and pulled down hats, desperate to escape the relentless chill.

All in all, perfect weather to herald the end of January in the Northern Hemisphere, and January was in too much of a hurry to relish in it.

“Pick up the pace,” he barked at the boy by his side, ignoring the answering sniffle. The deadline was fast approaching.

This child had not stopped bawling since he entered January’s life at 12:01 on January 1st. A fine way to herald the new year—January never got to enjoy any of the normal festivities, like the traditional midnight kiss.

Of course, February sent him a “congratulations, it’s a boy/girl!” card every year with the boy/girl crossed out and replaced with new year, but that was hardly anything worth mentioning. It wasn't like January kept each and every one in a box under his bed.

Luckily, the cold of winter had penetrated deep into the hearts of the people in this town, so no one so much as glanced up at January’s harsh treatment of a child.

Each month had their own way of dealing with the different years that passed through their care. Some, like August and December, treated them like spun glass. Others were more sparing with their affection.

January himself offered no warmth or words of comfort as he ushered the boy along.

After much protesting and dragging of feet, they finally reached the rendezvous, a beat-up looking 24-hour diner. And not a moment too soon, as the boy had begun to cry in earnest now.

January took great delight in striding through the door, already looking forward to depositing this mess right into February’s lap. He made sure to check his watch dramatically when he found February sitting at one of the booths.

“In less than 2 minutes, this,” January gestured to the boy, “will be all your problem and I will be on a tropical island somewhere enjoying complimentary drinks.”

February, who seemed to adapt to each new age faster than the rest of them, looked up from where he was typing something frantically on his laptop. “I’ll be done in a second. And don’t talk about the Southern Hemisphere when you brought this sort of weather with you.”

“We can’t all be given the honor of being considered both the warmest and the coldest month of the year.” January made sure to bring up this little factoid at every handoff. It had become their ritual of sorts.

“Only on average. I guess we can’t all be given the honor of being considered the world’s greatest asshole, either.” Ritual completed, February closed his laptop. They grinned at each other helplessly before leaning in for a kiss, ignoring 2018’s exaggerated gagging noises.

February directed his attention towards the boy. “So, this is 2018, huh? A bit snotty, isn’t he?”

“Just take him. 43 seconds left and I’m off to warmer climes.” January was eager for the break. The humans had a way of exaggerating that each new year felt worse than the last, but for once he agreed with them. 2018 was not off to a promising start.

“Will you be at the beach house?” February asked, clearly angling for an invitation after his own child-wrangling duties were over.

“I will be at one of my many residences enjoying my time off,” January said vaguely which was as good as a yes and they both knew it.

He was looking forward to it. The last few decades had been hectic, and it seemed like ages since he and February last spent some quality time together.

Time was greedy like that, eating up all the days and months you cherished the most and leaving the least choice cuts of beef for you to gnaw on.

 

* * *

 

February watched longingly as January walked out the door before turning his attention to the new year. “So…I’m sure January’s already told you everything,” February began. In fact, January had probably told 2018 absolutely nothing, as was his custom.

Watching the kid sitting in a booth kicking his legs back and forth made February feel a million years old.

“Your only job is to grow up,” February told him. 2018 was young now, no older than 7, but he would be starting on his teen years when February passed him off to March. No wonder the guy was always so surly.

By the time 2018 reached December, he would be well into his twilight years, and almost ready to reenter the time stream. No wonder December was always so depressed.

2018 flipped through a menu and ignored him. February mourned the loss of his healthy blood pressure levels. Thank god it wasn’t a leap year.

The waitress, tired and haggard, came around to fill his coffee. He accepted gratefully, mind already churning with ways to keep 2018 busy.

He was just raising the cup to his lips when a bullet shattered the window of the diner and pierced his skull.

 

* * *

 

February floated above his vessel, unsure what had just happened. His vessel lay slumped over the table and the blood had mixed with the coffee to create a sort of black-brown concoction.

2018 was definitely going to need therapy after this.

Everyone in the diner was screaming and there was an insistent tug at his belly.

He ignored it and homed in on January, as he believed he always would, running back towards the diner. He must not have made it very far.

If February never had to see that devastated look on January’s face again, it would be too soon.

There was a commotion amongst the crowd that had gathered. January’s expression turned rapidly to homicidal rage and February did not need to look to see someone he never thought he would see again. There stood Mercedonius, looking identical to the last time February saw him except with modern clothes.

When February had been Februarius, he had once been kissed by the burned husk of the month he loved. Since then, whether it was herding rambunctious years or facing the inevitability of Time, January has never had to face these things alone.

February struggled frantically against the pull. He thought he understood now why humans feared death, if it meant they saw this. He was as a moth wiggling feebly in the spider’s web.

Thus, he was returned back into Time.

 

* * *

 

It took all of January’s considerable will to ignore the smirking Mercedonius before him.

While revenge would satisfy his immediate need for blood, he had more important matters to attend to.

So, he created a door.

January’s name had come from the god Janus, who presided over beginnings and endings, a rather ironic fate for someone who detested Time as much as he.

The last door he had created almost led to his demise. And although February had chased most of the shadows from his soul, his hands still shook as he stepped through it.

If you couldn’t step in the same river twice, the same could be said of the time stream.

The only thing to do was to try and move forward.

January searched and searched, calling February’s name all the while, as eons passed, new universes were born and made, a cicada crawled out of the ground after 17 years.

He endured Time’s mocking jeers, he felt the remnants of past burn scars, but still he pressed on.

Until finally, he found him.

When January met February’s eyes, it was as if the future did not exist. The sense of urgency they felt bestowed upon them a lasting image of the course of their lives. In that moment, they were exempt from Time. They did not hear her screams of rage.

And in this way, they stumbled upon the secret of eternity that January had sought so long ago. The heart, wanting to retain all, lived beyond Time.

As they entered the realm of the timeless, they did so together and were comforted.


End file.
